


Dark Forest

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [126]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Injury, Nonbinary Frisk (Undertale), Prophecy, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25572916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Don’t you know not to wander into a dark forest, little one?You don’t know what could be living there, what things are lurking there.Don’t take a light with you into a dark forest, little one.You’ll only let them know where you are.
Relationships: Chara & Toriel (Undertale), Frisk & Toriel (Undertale)
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [126]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	Dark Forest

**Author's Note:**

> shh i'm experimenting with new aus

Fandom: Undertale

Prompt: “Close your eyes.”

* * *

They should’ve known better. They should’ve known better.

The child tears through the undergrowth, not caring about whether the bushes and brambles scratch at their arms and legs, too focused on going, going, getting away. It’ll hurt less, whatever the plants can do to them, it will hurt less than whatever _they_ will do to them if they catch them.

They can still hear the screams. They can hear the angry yells of the villagers, hear the crackle of the torches, and the sharp metallic _ting_ of the pitchforks. They can hear the footsteps. Hear the heavy breaths just over their shoulder.

They have to run.

They have to.

They curse their weak eyes for not being able to penetrate into the dark forest. The trees frown over the dark floor, growing so close together in some places that the branches twist together to form a wooden ceiling. It’s dark. It’s so dark.

Something grabs their ankle.

They pitch forward, a scream tearing itself out of their throat.

_Thump._

No, no, no, they can’t stop here, they have to—they have to run, they have to get up—

—what’s wrong with their ankle? What’s wrong, why can’t they—why can’t they stand, are they—

They’re coming. They can hear them tromping through the branches, they’re coming, they’re coming, they have to get up, they have to run, they can’t stop here, they can’t stop anywhere, they have to _go—_

Their ankle throbs, protesting with every inch they try to stand. They wobble, hobbling a few steps forward, groping blindly for something to hold onto, a trunk, a branch, a bush, anything—

_Don’t you know not to wander into a dark forest, little one?_

_You don’t know what could be living there, what things are lurking there._

_Don’t take a light with you into a dark forest, little one._

_You’ll only let them know where you are._

The lilting words of the village medicine woman drift through their head. They suppress a sob, both at the pain in their ankle and at the loss of their friend.

The medicine woman was the only one who hadn’t heeded the prophecy created when the child was born.

“Red eyes,” the villagers had whispered, “the vessel of hatred.”

They had seen the child as some kind of omen, sent to destroy them by way of some magical force. They had seen it as a vessel for hatred, for malice, and had filled the child with their own. ‘Demon,’ they called the child, ‘monster.’ They were cast out, forced to wander, take shelter among the animals, moving before they were caught.

The medicine woman had been the only one not to throw rocks every time the child passed by their doorstep. She had been the only one to invite them inside, out of the cold, for a meal or for shelter. She had been the one to push back their hair, look them in the eyes, and tell them they weren’t some evil spirit, that they were simply a child.

_A child has no need to be brave, no need to be strong,_ she had said, _all a child needs is to be safe._

Then she had died and the fragile peace the child had endured quickly erupted into chaos.

“They killed her!” The villagers' shouts echoed around the buildings. “They killed her!”

“The time has come,” they had shouted, “the time has come!”

“Where are they? Someone find them!”

The child had run.

The child had fallen.

Unbidden, tears slip out from their eyes, rolling in fat drops down their cheeks, dripping unseen onto the forest floor. Scrambling for some handhold, the child leans against a large tree trunk, feeling around to make sure they won’t accidentally disturb anything that may have made its home here. Their fingers curl into the divets of the bark, digging into the rough surface. The sting at their fingertips sharpens.

They can’t go back. There isn’t a place there for them anymore.

Maybe there never was.

What is that?

Is…is that light?

The child blinks away their tears, squinting at the shine coming from around the edge of the tree trunk. It curls golden fingers about the ridges of the bark, lifting the child’s chin and beckoning them closer. Carefully, they peer around the tree to look.

It’s…it’s a clearing. In the middle of the forest. A bed of golden flowers carpets the center of the clearing, the golden light seemingly shining down from some mystical space in the trees.

The light wraps around the child’s chin and beckons them closer still, drawing them out from behind the tree. They blink, staggering a little from the sudden change in light. Everything seems to glow under the child’s gaze, from the tips of the curling branches to the leaves of the flowers. Thin golden strands almost weave themselves through the air. Warm. It’s warm.

Oh no.

The child’s eyes widen and they try to back away. They’ve heard stories of places like this. Traps. Designed to catch unsuspecting prey. And the child’s wounded, they can’t run, and they’ve already come out from behind the tree—

“Oh, oh dear. Is that a child?”

The child spins around, forgetting for a moment about their ankle, only to collapse into the golden flowers. A figure. Coming out from the darkness. Horns.

A white coat?

The figure steps into the golden light, leaning down, resting their hands on their legs. The child squints. They…they look a little bit like a goat. A fluffier, whiter goat that walks on two legs and can speak, but…a goat?

“Are you hurt, dear?”

The child blinks. Is…is this part of the trap?

“Just here,” the not-goat says, leaning down and carefully patting the child’s ankle.

Oh. Oh, they hadn’t really looked at it until now. They wince when they see it’s twisted horribly out of alignment, already starting to go black and purple. It hurts.

“Here…”

The child’s eyes widen as more golden light swirls around them, growing brighter, brighter, brighter. So bright they have to close their eyes.

It stops.

It doesn't hurt anymore.

They gasp when they see their ankle. It’s…it’s better. It doesn’t hurt to move. They…they try and put weight on it and it…they can stand.

The not-goat smiles warmly when they look up, thrilled. Then they frown when the child realizes what’s happened.

Now they owe the not-goat for fixing their ankle.

A hand waves in front of their face. They…they have to take it, don’t they? They swallow and stand.

Maybe…maybe things will be better, they think as the not-goat leads them towards the flowers, maybe things won’t be so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


End file.
